This is not What I Wanted
by Risa Zugva
Summary: 2/3 Sherlock fell. John has to pick up the pieces of his life. Nothing is what he wanted it to be but he must march on as a good soldier would.
1. A Flatmate

**Post Reihenbach Fall. We'll see further. No beta.**

* * *

"We should have been only roommates," but when in life anything turned out as John Watson wanted it?

"What were you then, if not roommates?" his therapist tried to make him talk as she always did.

Usually, John had no desire to talk but things have gotten out of hand. He was constantly alone and his sorrow saw no end.

"We were friends," he said stiffly. "Colleagues too. Flatmates."

"It's understandable to miss your friend," she said gently but that only made him angry, angry at himself.

"I don't just miss him," he said angrily but then withdrew.

"That's good, John, that's progress," she said satisfied.

She knew nothing of progress. Progress would be if he would stop dreaming of bloody Sherlock Holmes.

"You're a bloody therapist and you don't get a clue. You don't understand how angry I am at him, angry at the mess he made," he shouted.

"That's a natural reaction to suicide. People often feel betrayed and enraged," she said slowly as she's speaking to a child.

"That wasn't a suicide," John moved forward to sit on the edge of his chair. "That's the part that enrages me. It couldn't have been a suicide. He wasn't a suicidal man, he would never… No, I know him, he played that stupid game with Moriarty and got himself in that position. He pressured him enough and he did what he always does, he played a bloody hero even if he never admits to being one. I never asked him to do that for me."

"The guilt is normal," she persisted and he gave up, it was like talking to a wall. "I'm sure you aren't to be blamed. Suicidal people often hide their depression, with the news and all…"

"I'm done here," John got up. "There's nothing you can do for me."

With that, he stormed out not caring of her opinion or anyone else's.

He paced the streets swiftly as he always did rushing after Sherlock's long stride as his coat swished behind him. That thought made him stop. He crouched beside the rails on a bridge.

"Don't do it, man," a passer-by said to him. "It's not worth it, there's always something waiting for us, something just behind the corner."

John lifted his head but the man was already walking away. The voice was different but for a second it was as it was him. It couldn't ever be him.

That was the part of John's problem. He saw him dead, Molly confirmed him dead, everyone mourned, but still. It was Sherlock Holmes, John could never believe anyone can outsmart him, not ever.

He lifted himself up and walked on slower, in his own pace, not like he's chasing after someone tall.

The problem with walking at that pace was that nothing ever happened, not to him. The world left behind Sherlock Holmes was a hollow place, it was empty, things seemed flat, people dull. The worst part was that he had no one to share his sorrow with. No one understood. They were sad, but they didn't miss him, not as John missed him.

While Sherlock was alive John was barely aware of how immersed he was in the man. His life became Sherlock's to dispose of. Wherever John was, he was just a text away from pacing off on some mission, be it big or small. To hell with it even the buying of milk and sugar in a shop was an adventure, was an argument.

As he would buy things he would lead inner argument against Sherlock, shouting at him in his head for being so out of touch, so dependent on John. And Sherlock did depend on John for many things. He got so used to it that he was ready to take a phone from his pocket instead of him.

No matter how mad would John get at Sherlock, how loud would he yell, how many times he would refuse the task, Sherlock would just stand there, or more often sat there, and waited to know that John will calm down and do just what he was told.

That wasn't even Sherlock's fault. It was John's military training fault. Sherlock just knew how to use it, or was it his unassuming ordering voice that did the trick every time.

Nothing ever went the way John wanted it to. That's how that damn military service went on to shape his life long after it was over. Even after Sherlock fixed his limp the memories still haunted him. As Mycroft said with his irritating voice, John missed the war, he missed the feeling of being alive, of death lurking over his shoulder.

In the army John wasn't the one firing guns, he wasn't aiming, he was aimed at. Despite that, he managed to do his job, to run between trenches and patch up people, soldiers. He went where he was told to go and he fixed things. That was his calling, to fix people and he was quite good at it.

He fancied the illusion that one day he might even fix infamous Sherlock Holmes. That he'll return the favour of life Sherlock gave him.

John knew Sherlock wasn't suicidal, he knew how he adored life and the thrill of the chase, he was too emerged in life to want to flee it. John knew that all too well because he was the man who was suicidal before they met. That was the reason he kept his gun in his drawer constantly checking up on it to see did it vanish. That gun was his exit card, if things went too meaningless he would just pull the trigger and be gone.

Now that wasn't an option. Sherlock ruined that. He made that gun a centre point of John's role in his adventures. John was two things that Sherlock wasn't. He was a doctor and he was a soldier. First meant that he could examine a body or to help a person, the second one meant that he could protect them if needed.

To break that function of his gun would be to betray Sherlock

John was sure that in Sherlock's mind jumping off that building was to protect John. All that he said could be interpreted in that light. Why would he lead a private conversation so wrongly lying all the time? Someone listened and Sherlock complied. That was the only explanation John could find. Everything else was just a lie.

If Sherlock would really do that, before the end he would insult John in some manner, he would insult the whole world. Sherlock would never talk about himself in a moment like that because Sherlock didn't think of himself as interesting. All he thought about was the world and all its faults.

Someone falling to its death would say what's wrong with the world. Like now, John would say there's no Sherlock in this world, but that would be the thing that would stop John.

If Sherlock did what he did for John he surely didn't do it so he could escape too.

No, there was no escape for John. He was trapped on this side and he'll have to deal with it. If only he could think of something to do, something at least partly entertaining.

'The game is on,' said Sherlock in his mind and John smiled.

"For you," he murmured and decided to lift himself up and get out.

If Sherlock could see John it wouldn't be nice if there was nothing to see, would it?


	2. Threads

Sherlock did see John. The sight of him calmed Sherlock down, it gave him patience. More than patience, it gave him focus.

There were men out there who were Moriarty's puppets. Some of them had instructions to hurt John, his John Watson. That was out of the question. Sherlock would never allow that even if it meant his own demise.

That was the event he could never permit, John's death. So much so, that he had in store plans to prevent it from happening. When he realized just how unacceptable John's death is to him, he even started to trail after him when he would get out on the street just to roam or to go to his changing girlfriends.

Usually, he would just get back home when John would be safely inside, but sometimes John just walked around without any special goal. Those times Sherlock could see his tense shoulders and his stiff hands. That would reveal to Sherlock that John isn't really walking, he was coping with some inner struggles he wasn't able to resolve by sitting around.

Sherlock could understand not being able to just sit around, but the emotion John was trying to resolve escaped him. He didn't really bother with it, he just walked behind to see John safely reaching his destination and sometimes that destination was back home in Baker Street. In those times Sherlock would cut the corner, jump up the ladder and enter the flat before him.

He justified that by calling it practice. Every good detective needed to know how to tail someone without being spotted. John was a good practice, especially because he knew Sherlock so well.

Since he jumped that roof, Sherlock wasn't returning to Baker Street, except sometimes, to collect small things, but John wasn't returning to it either.

That was probably a good thing. There he was easy to find.

Moriarty's puppets weren't so easily found.

Sherlock didn't bother to find out which ones were targeted on John, or Lestrade, or Mr Hudson. He took them out one by one not sparing no one. They ended up in prisons, had accidents and just disappeared in planes convinced to stay away.

When London was clean, Sherlock spread his net wider. The world needed to be safe from Moriarty and the many plans that could roll on without him present. John needed to be safe.

Time needed to accomplish that task seemed insignificant to Sherlock. He was focused and was never bored. One task came after another, one broken link leads to another and soon he was tied down in some Serbian basement in the middle of the woods.

He had a plan, he would escape, but his defeat needed to be convincing for that. When he played his cards his annoying brother reveal himself. As always Mycroft pulled the strings and announced that his hunt was over.

Sherlock would hunt some more if he was left to his own devices because there was always another thread to follow. Still, even he had to admit that he was scrapping on the bottom of the barrel. These thugs were barely connected to him and London.

When he was back, it was finally time to return to John and resume with his life.

He expected no troubles there. After all, John valued his company, missed his wits, surely he'll be more than happy to start his life all over again.


	3. Moving On

The dreams were the problem for John. Or at least the context of them entwined with his morning erection.

In dreams, he would chase after Sherlock solving a life-threatening puzzle and in the morning he would wake up aroused. He was sure there was no link between those two events. He was a doctor for god's sake, he knew that was just a biological imperative, but still.

It was a thing hard to justify to anyone.

Since Sherlock was gone, he wasn't even there so John could vent out his frustration and emotions by yelling at him. There was no release.

Especially, when he would get his bearings back and remembered that Sherlock was dead. Then all his excitement would just vanish as quickly as it came.

To his luck, Mary was there and it seemed that she understood.

It was unbelievable struck of luck to employ her as his nurse. She was everything that he needed and more.

She was beautiful and witty and had an edge to her, something dangerous he couldn't quite pinpoint. That made it interesting, but what made it word was the fact that she let him grieve, that she didn't find his sorrow strange. On contrary, she accompanied him to the graveyard and they were sad together.

He appreciated her company so much that he invited her in almost every night and she was there in the morning to greet him out of the nightmares. Sometimes it felt desperate as she was in need of comforting as she was giving comfort.

The comfort of her company was so great that he tried to be his best self for her, to be John Watson he always wanted to be, a serious and considerate man who respects his wife.

That thought made him smile.

Why not? There was no reason why he shouldn't. She was the best thing that happened to him since… forever.

Why would he hesitate and wait for her to be wary of him? No, there's no need to wait.

That same afternoon he went to a jeweller shop and chose a diamond worthy of her, the kind that a respectable man would choose.

As he held it he was nervous a bit, but determinant to overcome this situation as any soldier would. He called to reserve them a table. They didn't have any for a whole two weeks. He couldn't wait for so long so he sent a message to Mycroft, a thing he didn't do in a while and asked him for a favour.

John smiled as the reply text came.

Mycroft didn't keep in touch, neither did John, but there were things he owed John, that they all did owe John.

That reminded him of Mr Hudson.

Now, before he proposes, he surely can go to see her, to see the old flat one last time.

Yes, he decided, this will be a turning point. He'll go to visit Mr Hudson, to see the flat and move on. When he gets back from dinner with his new fiancée he'll open the blog and delete it. It was time to move on from Sherlock Holmes.

After all, if he managed to cheat death, he would surely get in touch by now. Two years have passed on this very day and two years were enough to mourn after anyone.

Yes, John will move on.


	4. Standing Still

Sherlock was quite unpleasantly surprised by John's greeting. It was quite unsettling and hurtful.

Not in an emotional way but in a physical way. Sherlock was all battered and injured from his beating in custody, which his brother wasn't kind enough to prevent.

Although he was surprised, Sherlock accepted that he wasn't really an expert on human emotions. John was an expert on that and if he thought that he had a right to be angry he probably did.

Still, it baffled Sherlock, his reaction to every single thing he said. He thought that he had gotten better with people and John was his guide in such matters. Without him explaining it to Sherlock, there was no way of understanding what exactly did he do wrong?

That Mary of his said that she'll turn him around and Sherlock was surprised by that too. She seemed so confident about her ability to change John's mind.

None of his previous girlfriends was like that. They barely had any input on John but this one seemed different, she seemed as she should be, a carer, someone who would be able to give John comfort and support he needs. It was most peculiar thought, the one that made Sherlock doubt.

Setting that aside Sherlock got back to the other parts of his life. John had hit him enough times for him to drop it for now. At least until he heals.

In the meantime, he had Molly Hopper to thank for his survival.

He did that as best as he could, he let her tag along and be his John. It seemed fine at first but in the last two years, Sherlock was so used in talking to John as he was there that he did it still.

That was a habit he'll have to let go. It seemed strange, he could tell from Lestrade's looks.

In absence of John, he started to notice those small things he would annoyingly always bring up. In a way, John became a voice in his head, a companion in absence.

It wasn't anything strange, he did talk to John even when he was away even before, it was just a bit out of control, he'll suppress it soon enough.

Sherlock was good at that, at suppressing, at forgetting things that weren't important, at things that got in a way of his thinking process. This wasn't any different, just a habit that was getting in a way.

Till the end of the day, Sherlock was sure Molly had enough. It wasn't working for her and she had a fiancée to think about now.

That was a good thing and Sherlock was happy for her.

The thing Moriarty got wrong, that most of the people in his life got wrong, was that Sherlock cared for Molly, he really did. Because of that, he cared he was honest to her. John called his honesty rudeness but Sherlock knew that he was being kind to her. He was constantly showing her that he wasn't available nor suitable as a companion for her. He still valued her company and her help. The fact that she liked to indulge illusions wasn't a thing that he could do anything about.

Sherlock wasn't a man who indulged illusions. John's company in his mind palace was a useful tool while he was away dealing with cases without a companion. He used him to think, nothing more. Now it was time for that to end.

From John's reactions, maybe it was time for their joined adventures to end. It was one of the possibilities, although not one Sherlock considered likely, but it was there. Sherlock had to be ready for that option, to let go without hesitation.

Mycroft would never get enough of it if he would ever sense any kind of regret on Sherlock.

Sherlock was cold and in control, back in his flat and on a new case. Everything was as usual but then Mary came in with a skip code message and nothing was calm and composed.

They ran to save John. They stole a motorbike to save John. Sherlock burned his wrists to save John. John was safe.

Sherlock's mind was calm after that. That was a most unusual occurrence. His mind was never calm it always runs towards tomorrow.

His mind was so still that he quietly withstood the visit from his parents listening to their ramblings without a word. John was targeted, again. Who would care enough to try a Moriarty move on Sherlock again? Who would care enough that Sherlock cares for John?

It must have to have some kind of a connection to his case.

Sherlock got up to look at his map, it must have been there but his mind refused to start again, it was still as it had no goal.

Then the door opened and John entered their flat like he still lives there.

He looked at Sherlock's parents reminding Sherlock that they were still there. Sherlock moved, his mind moved, and he pushed his parents out of his flat as swiftly as possible but, as usual, his mother wasn't so easily dissuaded.

He withstood her last lines but the touch on his face was too much, he just pushed her outside closing the door. He wasn't an emotional little boy to be treated like that, especially before John.

"Clients?" John inquired and Sherlock said the truth.

"These are your parents, but they're so…"

"What?" Sherlock waited to hear the insult, to call them normal like it's anything normal about being so boring and preoccupied with pieces of paper stuck behind a couch as it was a great event of an era.

"Ordinary," said John and once again proved to be different.

"That's a cross I have to bear," Sherlock smiled.

"Did they know too?" John remembered to ask and Sherlock felt a surge of guilt.

That wasn't a feeling he was susceptible to before but in their time together John had implanted it on Sherlock so he apologized again frustrated with his wrong assessment.

John sat in his chair, Sherlock in his and there they stood.

It felt like old times, more so because John immediately started to talk of business, to ask questions. Questions were John's great strength, he was great at them and in a moment Sherlock's mind was working again. They were chasing the tail of this mystery and Sherlock finally got the feeling that he's working at the right speed, running ahead pushed by John who ran alongside him.

John was alive and well and it seemed that they resumed their life together but in Sherlock's mind there was an alarm going. He has spent two years chasing criminals so John could be safe and he still wasn't. Sherlock wasn't satisfied with that.

* * *

 _The scene where Sherlock is pushing out his parents. It always seemed such a familiar move. The one when your boyfreind comes over and you don't want for your parents to embarass you in front of him._


	5. I Have Missed This

John was sitting at the table alone. There's been a tense moment before when he breathed in to propose and froze. Mary smiled then as she can read him, she often could read him easily, he liked that about her. She took that moment to excuse herself to freshen up.

John nodded without a word and was left alone at the table. He was ok with that. It was a time to rehearse in his mind, to think of a sentence worthy of this moment. He visualised the moment in his head lost for his surroundings practising his pitch.

Should he get the ring first or should he speak first? Maybe just to place a ring on the table. No, speak first.

The waiter ruined his concentration but then Mary came and he breathed in deciding to speak first. He was doing well, Mary was laughing, that was a good sign, and she even joked around to ease his tension. Jokes made it easier but then that waiter was back again badgering him.

Mary laughed, John was annoyed.

He looked up to get rid of the waiter and saw a ghost.

John froze. Everything stood still and the ghost kept talking, as Sherlock would, thinking out loud.

John unfroze lifting himself to his feet but then he had to support himself on the table because his legs wobbled under him.

Sherlock kept talking whipping his ridiculous moustache and John recovered enough to feel his anger rising up. He hit the table with his fist to release a part of it but it didn't help much. Sherlock kept talking and, although it did enrage to see him, his soft tone kept him controlled but then he paused.

"Will you really keep those," he paused signalling towards John's moustache.

Sherlock smiled then and John lost it. All he wanted to do was to strangle that bastard, that cock of a man. There were a release and a certain dose of enjoyment as he pushed Sherlock to the ground but it was over too soon. He was dragged off Sherlock and they were escorted out of the restaurant.

Outside on the pavement, John stood breathing in and out deeply trying to find some peace inside of his rage. Mary talked and led the way towards a smaller restaurant around the corner. They were silent as they walked and all John wanted was to crush Sherlock into the wall and hit him over and over again.

In the restaurant, Sherlock started to talk again trying to explain his cunning plan of cheating death.

"You can be really thick sometimes," John said in amazement.

How could he not know that John cares nothing about his cunning plans and witty escapes, he expected as much of him, he thought of enough of scenarios over the last two years that he wasn't in the slightest interested which he used.

"Who else knew," was all that interested John.

"So, Mycroft, Molly Hooper and a hundred bums," John couldn't believe it.

"Don't be ridiculous, twenty-five," Sherlock smiled at him and John lost it again.

He jumped over the table to strangle him again. As he leapt he felt joy.

Once again they were separated and Mary led them to another diner, this time a shabby place where they won't mind Sherlock's split lip. The sight of blood gave John a certain dose of satisfaction.

Sherlock talked on. As always, he couldn't help himself again targeting John's moustache.

"Mary likes it," he stood firm satisfied with the new look he groomed especially to mark the absence of one arrogant Sherlock Holmes.

"No she doesn't," Sherlock said smugly and John fought him just to turn to Mary and see the guilt on her face.

"Charming," he said suddenly ashamed of himself. "I have missed this," he shouted sarcastically.

Without a pause to notice the sarcasm, Sherlock started to talk about a case.

John had a hard time to attempt to wrap his mind around that possibility when Sherlock again smiled at him.

"You have missed this," he said and John didn't hear the last part of that sentence.

Just him smiling at him like that made John filled with fury. This time he didn't go for the throat, he just grabbed his irritatingly unscratched coat and made a leap. He crashed his forehead on Sherlock's head.

In the next moment, Sherlock was crumbling at the ground as John still held him by his coat.

"I did not miss this," he growled at him and exited the diner to find a taxi and get the Hell away from Sherlock Holmes before he kills him himself.

In the cab, Mary said how she likes Sherlock and John couldn't believe his ears. That wasn't the point. It was easy to like Sherlock but that wasn't the bloody point, the bloody point was that he left John to mourn after him for two full years as people around him knew the truth.

One message was all that he would need.

As everything settled down in their flat, John looked at the mirror at the moustache no one liked and admitted to himself that he hated it too. It was a poor attempt to make a new personality for himself.

It wasn't for Sherlock's comments or his opinion but for himself. Sherlock wasn't dead anymore and John could return to his old self, to his younger self, the one who wasn't grieving.

Mary was reading something. It sounded familiar so he leaned in to hear.

"Don't read that," he said desperately.

She opened the unpublished post on his blog. The one he was reading before they went out to dinner. He read it because he had the intention to erase the blog when they get back from dinner.

Now wasn't any point in such gesture, was it.

John shaved off his moustache and stood in front of a mirror looking familiar. He still felt anger but that last swing at Sherlock did leave him somewhat satisfied.

"Will you go see him in the morning," Mary asked and he denied it.

He had no intention to go and see him, but like anything, so did his resolve lessened as the day passed by. The day seemed like a day from Hell. There was nothing as dull as fake patients.

All along, while he did his job, there he was in the back of John's mind. Sherlock was taunting him telling him how dull his job is how pointless these appointments are, how it's all devoid of the thrill of the chase.

John was annoyed by his voice in the back of his mind. That voice was nothing new, it was there all along through the last two years, but now it was an annoyance because he was angry at Sherlock Holmes.

He was so irritated that he made a terrible mistake. In the middle of the day, in his office came a raggedy man and John assumed that his over the top persona was Sherlock's cheap act to make him fold. When he revealed that the man was real, John was horrified by himself.

After that, he realized that there's no way around going to Sherlock. Sherlock was thick enough not to come to him again. Considering what John did to his nose it was understandable, but still.

If he has to go and make that leap, it was best that he does it today. He'll go mad if he waits for another day to see him, to yell at him some more.

When his working day was finally over, Mary said that she'll be off with her friend Jeanine and that he's free for the evening.

Mary understood even better than he did. That's why he just nodded and walked towards Sherlock, towards Baker Street.

As he walked the familiar path, John felt the adrenalin pumping through his veins, his shoulders were tense, his hands unwillingly closed into fists. When he reached the door he stood at the pavement looking at the door and up the window.

Will he really enter and let him make excuses? Will he really just let this slide as it was nothing?

Then a man grabbed him putting a needle to his neck. John struggled but he had no chance against two thugs.

As he came about there were branches around and he found himself unable to move, unable to speak. Soon the smoke was around him and he tried to reach his voice.

The flames were lit high already and John found himself faced with death. He'll burn alive. John felt the fear but he couldn't really believe it. Not now, not when Sherlock was back, not now. That was too much, too much irony. He still hadn't had a chance to yell on Sherlock some more. How will Sherlock take it? Will Mary grieve?

Then there was Sherlock's voice shouting his name and soon Sherlock was above him grabbing him. As Sherlock pulled him out from the fire John couldn't do anything but to look at his terrified face as he leaned towards him to see is he alright. At that moment John's anger seemed so silly. Sherlock was back and everything will be alright now.


	6. Switch it Off

Nothing was alright.

John was by his side. His mind worked at the right speed but nothing was alright.

John was closed off and cold. That just couldn't be. Not his John. His John wore his heart on the sleeve. Surely, he had a hard time of talking, exposing his emotions, putting them in words but he always showed them without restriction. His anger mostly, frustration, annoyance, disdain and also admiration and awe. There were always there on the surface easy to see even if never addressed directly.

Now he was flat, inexpressive, and professional. He went through the maps of the tubes without any sign of complaint. He acted as he wasn't still angry like he didn't beat the shit out of Sherlock just two days ago.

That worried Sherlock beyond comprehension. It meant that he's still very angry and that he didn't forgive Sherlock.

As he worked on the case he also worked on the case of John Watson. How to get him to forgive Sherlock.

Sherlock was nervous about that task because time was ticking and John wasn't a man who would get an emotion back to the surface once he buried it.

That was the fact Sherlock could understand easily because he was the same, at least he was before he spent two years alone chasing criminals. In those two years, John kept his company, at least his annoyed complaining voice and Sherlock shared with that voice his thoughts and emotions.

Now he stood beside real John and he didn't share any of his inner emotions. If he doesn't hurry John will push his anger towards Sherlock down with emotions towards his father and his sister and Sherlock feared that would mean he would get the cold shoulder his sister was doomed to.

John didn't even notice how he treated her at arm's length. If Sherlock was being fair the whole world was to John at arm's length, but at least his words would reach Sherlock and moved him, scorned him.

When they descended down to the tubes John asked about calling the police and Sherlock forbade him to call them because he already did. His John before the fall would scorn him how stupid he is and call anyway. Then Sherlock could tell him that he already made the call before they went. To that, he would get annoyed insult like 'you prick' and everything would be well with the world.

John on this side of the fall just complied not willing to argue.

In the tube, they found the coach and discovered it to be a bomb.

Faced with the detonator Sherlock fell desperate. He never learned how to diffuse a bomb. It was useless even to try to reach a knowledge he never acquired.

He looked up at John terrified by the realization that he will be the one to kill John in the end that he was the reason John won't get his happy ending, his life he deserves.

"Do something, there has to be a way to switch it off," John yelled at him.

Sherlock knew that the knowledge he never had can't be magically reproduced.

"Go to your mind palace," John ordered him and Sherlock complied.

He ran all things he knew, what they discovered and among everything he suddenly heard what had John said moments before. 'Switch it off.'

It was so simple. Terrorist ran around with bombs all the time there had to be an off switch. That's why Sherlock needed John, to say simple things like the off-switch.

Sherlock took off his scarf to release his throat and dived down to find a switch. He quickly found it but then he paused. They were safe and on the counter, there was a number which reminded Sherlock on the day he met John. 29 of January.

John was in the elevated state of mind, he was emotional. John was rarely emotional. That could be the moment to resolve their dispute, to let John release his anger, to forgive Sherlock.

Still, Sherlock had no clear path in his mind, he didn't know what can he do, what will go out of this but they were safe, John was emotional and he could try.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I can't do it, John."

John was furious thinking of the bomb.

"I don't know how. Forgive me," Sherlock asked honestly.

Even in a moment like this, John held his ground not trusting Sherlock, expecting a trick.

"I find it difficult, these sort of stuff," John still refused to let his emotions out.

"I know," Sherlock said simply and sat down to watch John being emotional waiting to see what he will say.

"You were the best and the wisest man that I have ever known," John said with a strain in his voice. "Yes, of course, I forgive you."

With that, John closed his eyes and braced himself against the explosion.

Sherlock watched him in a small state of shock. He was lost with emotions but he expected something like 'I forgive you, you prick, now show off and solve the bloody thing'.

He didn't expect anything like the kindest, that was the last thing he expected. Kind, what was that all about? Then it dawned on Sherlock. John wasn't just angry at Sherlock because he lied and deceived John, he was angry because he missed him and in his absence, he started to think of him as better than he actually was.

That made Sherlock chuckle. The best and the wisest, obnoxious and show-off was what would pre-fall John say to him. He looked at John's face and really started to laugh. His face was too adorable, trying to be brave just after he's been kind to Sherlock. Brave and kind, that's the words that describe John.

John peeked at Sherlock and finally realized what Sherlock had done. To Sherlock's delight, John finally released his annoyance and anger at Sherlock without restraint but also without physical violence. With John physical violence came with repressing emotions, not releasing them. When he would lash out his anger the world was safe before him.

"Come on," Sherlock said with a smile. "Killing me, that was so two years ago."

John paused in surprise lost for words, as he often would be faced with Sherlock's smile, and then chuckled accepting it all.

After that, all was good. John talked to him easily, showing his emotions freely and he brought Mary around.

Sherlock really did like Mary. There was something about her that he found reassuring. It seemed like she can handle John. He didn't seem as he is repressing emotions around her. All the previous girls had the tendency to ask of John to be something he's not. A considerate, polite and emotional human being.

Not his John. His John bottled up his emotions carrying them as a soldier, marching on no matter what happened around him. That's why he needed Sherlock, to yell at him, to get angry at him, and to laugh. Surely, even Mary will appreciate having John that is less serious and stressed out. If you don't run him, he gets restless and paranoid.

For now, he seemed relaxed, ready to talk and express, to get back to the chase.

"They want to talk to you now," John said about reporters under their window.

"In a minute," Sherlock was relaxed.

In his living room, there was Mary, Mr Hudson and Lestrade. He was glad to see them all. Then there was his Molly. Everything was as it should be but then he saw her boyfriend and was unpleasantly surprised.

Molly should have moved on and not to pick this poor copy of him. After that, he felt violated in some way. Even tying his scarf seemed ruined by her poor emotional judgement. What a mess will she make again for herself? Sherlock really hoped she'll get better at life.

"You have missed this," John said.

As they talked Sherlock kept his back turned towards John. There was lightness in John's voice now but Sherlock could hear how hard it is for him to speak, to get this thing between them to a full circle. Sherlock kept his back turned toward him to make it easier on him to speak. That and to give himself a space to hide his face. He wasn't sure that he would transmit the right kind of a response to his words.

Yes, he has missed this, more than he was able to express, more than he was willing to show to John. In front of John, he always loved to keep his cool, to keep control, to leave John an impression that this thing between them is easy and fun, that they can stop whenever they want, that they, both of them, aren't haunted by ghosts of their pasts to run forward towards the danger.

Ghosts of the past, Sherlock smiled to himself, sometimes he was dramatic even to himself. With that smile, he turned towards John.

"I've heard you," he said about his return and John gave him that small smile of his, the one on the side and Sherlock knew that they were good, that he has fixed this.

With that, he exited the door, but just before he did he remembered the hat.

'Wear the damn hat,' John would order him.

Now he didn't, but maybe that made it even more fun, to obey John even when he doesn't speak.

Sherlock put on the hat and exited before the reporters. As he spoke he could feel John's shoulder beside him and he knew all was well with the world.


End file.
